


Bitter Wind

by revampired



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: (she's fine tho don't worry), Angst with a Happy Ending, Character's Name Spelled as Viktor, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Feels, Hurt Victor Nikiforov, Hurt/Comfort, Hypothermia, M/M, Makkachin in Peril, Post-Canon, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-02
Updated: 2017-06-02
Packaged: 2018-11-08 05:07:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11074665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/revampired/pseuds/revampired
Summary: When Makkachin runs off during a walk, Viktor will do anything to find her - including put himself in danger in the bitterly cold Russian winter. Luckily, Yuuri is there to put him back together.Written forthiskink meme prompt for Viktor getting hypothermia.





	Bitter Wind

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is kind of an exercise in how much can I fudge medical info for the sake of Viktuuri cuteness. In reality, if you develop hypothermia, you should get medical attention immediately - here, I tried to portray moderate to severe hypothermia but ultimately had Yuuri warm Viktor up himself (with blankets, lol) which is what the prompt asked for. 
> 
> Sorry to any doctors or med students reading this. :P

“Yuuri, did Makkachin come home?” 

Yuuri looked up from his phone, peeling his eyes away from the endless scroll of social media, staring at Viktor in alarm.

“Wasn’t she on a walk with you?” He asked, the first prickles of fear making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. 

Viktor looked frantic, eyes wide and lips cracked from the cold. He breathed heavily, like he’d run a long way, and Yuuri opened his arms, offering his fiance a place between them.

“She ran off,” Viktor explained, running his trembling fingers through his hair and ignoring Yuuri. “We were walking, she caught sight of something, and she just  _ bolted _ \- I wasn’t fast enough. Fuck,  _ fuck _ .”

“Is this the first time she’s run off during a walk?” Yuuri asked, immediately putting the book down.

“First time she’s run off and wasn’t waiting just a few meters away,” Viktor ground out, seeming annoyed at the question.

He broke off into what was surely a series of swears in Russian. Yuuri stood up and put his hands on Viktor’s shoulders, nervous. He’d never seen Viktor so worked up before. Then again, he supposed if he’d ever lost Vicchan on a walk, he’d be equally inconsolable.

Still, it took a  _ lot _ to even begin to chip through Viktor’s careful composure, so seeing him with red cheeks and shallow breath and glassy eyes was unnerving at best.

“Hey, hey - we’ll find her, okay?” Yuuri assured him, slipping his phone into his pocket. “We’ll call the police, tell them to keep a look out, how’s that sound?”

“No,” Viktor whispered, harshly, pulling away. “No - I need to… I need to go out there, now. I need to find her. She’s all alone, and I…”

He broke off, blinking back tears. 

“Of course,” Yuuri agreed. “Let me get my coat, let’s go looking for her.”

Viktor was out the door before Yuuri could finish the sentence. 

“Wait,” Yuuri squawked, putting on his coat and shoes at lightning speed and forgoing the many scarves he usually wore on cold Russian winter days. “Wait, Vitya, you need a heavier coat, it’s going to be dark soon-”

Viktor was already at the elevator, tap-tap-tapping his foot impatiently, and Yuuri scrambled in behind him just as the door was sliding closed. 

“You’re going to freeze,” Yuuri admonished, panting.

“It’ll be fine,” Viktor responded, absently.

“Do you have your phone?”

Viktor frowned, patting at his empty jean pocket. “I… It looks like I left it in the apartment.”

“Okay, okay,” Yuuri sighed, puffing out a breath. “It’s alright. Just stay near me, okay?”

“Okay,” Viktor agreed, sounding very far away. Yuuri bit his lip and leaned against him, resting his head on his shoulder as a way to ground him. 

“We’ll find her, Vitya,” Yuuri tried to reassure him. 

For the first time since he’d gotten home, Viktor looked at Yuuri, really  _ looked _ at him, and smiled sadly. He tilted his head to rest it on Yuuri’s, then turned to press a kiss to Yuuri’s forehead. 

“I know. I’m sorry, Yuuri, it’s just… She means so much to me,” his voice faltered into a whisper at the last word, and Yuuri’s heart ached.

* * *

 

The sun was beginning its slow descent as they exited the apartment building, and Yuuri noted it warily. What was a vaguely unpleasant chill now would quickly turn into punishing, brutal cold once the last of the sun’s rays disappeared below the horizon - and neither of them were dressed for a winter night. 

“Let’s try retracing our walk,” Viktor said, nervously. “Maybe she’s waiting for us.”

“Mm,” Yuuri agreed, and he laced his fingers with Viktor’s, tentatively, smiling when he felt a gentle squeeze in return. “Did you bring anything with you on the walk? Like, a toy?”

“Oh!” Viktor’s face lit up. “Yes, the squeaky bone…”

He fished in his pocket and pulled out the bright blue toy, squeezing it a few times so Yuuri could hear the squeaky noise. 

“Perfect,” Yuuri cheered. 

It would have been a lovely walk through St. Petersburg in the evening, had it not been for the weight of Makkachin’s disappearance. They passed coffee shops and bookstores, little historical treasures and bits of green space tucked in among modern urban development. 

“Makka,” Viktor called out at different intervals, squeezing the squeaky toy, “Makkachin, where are you, girl?”

“Hey,” Yuuri would stop to ask a shopkeeper in halting Russian, holding up a picture of Makkachin on his phone. “Have you seen this dog?”

Viktor’s fond grin would’ve made those moments sweet, had they not been terrified and looking for their missing poodle. 

Finally, after a slow, searching crawl through the first bit of the walk, they came to the place where Makkachin ran off. 

“Makka,” Viktor cried out, voice breaking. 

Yuuri bit his lip. He reached out to Viktor, but Viktor was too absorbed in his own panic to notice, and he jolted forward, calling out for Makkachin again and again. 

“Let’s split up,” he said suddenly, and Yuuri’s heart stuttered in his chest. 

“What?” he breathed, tugging at his hair nervously. “I’m not sure…” 

“It’ll be fine,” Viktor brushed him off. “We’ll cover more ground. You follow the path we normally take for our walk, I’ll visit some of her favorite places in the city.”

“You don’t have your phone,” Yuuri protested, “Please, shouldn’t we stay together?”

Viktor spun to face him gripped Yuuri’s shoulders, staring him in the eye, desperate and anguished. “Please,” he pleaded, “Please, it’ll be dark soon. If we can get through this faster, we have a better chance of finding her. I know the city better, you know our walk… Please, please, Yuuri, please do this for her.”

It would have been easier if he’d been angry, if he’d snapped for Yuuri to go off in the opposite direction. Viktor was so  _ sad _ \- the slump in his shoulders, the red rim surrounding his eyes were awful, painful to look at. 

Even when Viktor was playing around, Yuuri found it so hard to say no to those pouted pink lips, those wide blue eyes.

Yuuri pressed up onto the balls of his feet and kissed the top of Viktor’s forehead, right at the hairline. 

“Okay,” he said, against his better judgement, “Okay. You’ll be back before dark?”

Viktor nodded, roughly, and pulled Yuuri to him in a warm, cozy hug. 

It wasn’t particularly reassuring, but Yuuri found he couldn’t bring himself to argue.

* * *

 

Yuuri walked, nervous, down the familiar streets. He called out for Makkachin and asked for help in turn, looping past parks that she’d been let loose in more than a few times after catching the eye of some bird, some squirrel. 

His thighs were starting to itch under his jeans, and his gloved hands tingled unpleasantly. Yuuri caught a glimpse of himself, bathed in lamplight, in a shop window and winced at how pink the tip of his nose was. 

St. Petersburg was aglow with orange and red light, and Yuuri ached for Viktor’s hand in his own, Makkachin pulling them along after practice. 

Viktor had been a  _ mess _ . Not thinking straight, aggravated, and so, so sad. Yuuri knew nothing would make him feel better until Makkachin was safe again in his arms, but it still hurt to see his beloved so upset, and the knowledge that nothing he could do would fix it… 

Fuck, it was  _ cold _ . The itching in his legs was almost unbearable, and movement in his fingers was stiff and sluggish. 

It was almost completely dark outside. Yuuri bit his lip, taking care to explore all the nooks and crannies hidden along the usual path of Makkachin’s walk. He couldn’t go back until he finished, but luckily that wouldn’t take too long. He just hoped Viktor’s path was just as short.

Yuuri took a deep breath, inhaling the sharp cold as he puffed his way back into the apartment building after following their walk path to the letter. He rubbed his hands together desperately as he sunk back in the cozy, warm elevator.

He’d had no luck. He hated the thought of returning to the apartment with bad news for Viktor - what should he even do? If they didn’t find Makkachin tonight, what would happen? 

Yuuri tried not to think of the worst. There were so many people in St. Petersburg, and Makka was a very distinctive dog. Surely  _ someone _ would see her, read the name and number on her collar, and call? 

Viktor wasn’t there when Yuuri returned. He frowned, nervous, but the sun had only barely set. He’d give it another few minutes before he worried.

Those few minutes passed. Ten. Yuuri paced, back and forth, gaze flitting continuously to the spot where Viktor’s phone sat, staring at him with deepest accusation.  _ Fuck _ , Yuuri thought, why hadn’t he grabbed it on his way out?

The clock ticked on, mocking him. 

Maybe he would come through the door at any moment. 

But then, he’d already been out before their search, and he’d only been wearing one coat, and it was dark and  _ bitterly cold _ . 

Yuuri leapt up, heart thudding in his chest as he imagined the worst, trying to calm himself, saying  _ shh, shh, Viktor wouldn’t put himself in danger for Makkachin _ . 

Then, he laughed humorlessly. In what world did he believe that Viktor Nikiforov, his beloved fiance, who flew with no warning to  _ Japan _ after seeing a viral video of him, wouldn’t do the  _ absolute most _ for a beloved member of his family, even if it put himself in harm’s way.

And even so… Even if he was safe, Yuuri rationalized, he shouldn’t be out at night, alone. Alone and upset. He cursed himself for listening when Viktor insisted they split up - he should’ve insisted they stay together, but in the moment it had been too much to risk Viktor feeling even worse.

He took a deep breath, pulled on two pairs of socks, underarmor, scarves, and the thickest gloves he could find - and left the comforting warmth of his apartment to find Viktor.

* * *

 

Cold, cold,  _ cold _ .

It was so cold. 

Vikor gasped for breath, breath coming out in white puffs as he scrambled to calm down. 

“Makkachin,” he called out, “Makka, where are you?”

_ Fuck _ , where was  _ he _ ? 

It couldn’t have been so long since he’d been separated from Yuuri, if he could just retrace his steps…

_ But Makkachin _ , the clawing ache in his stomach reminded him, and he let out a low sob. It would be so cruel to go home now, if she was still out there, cold and alone in St. Petersburg. Her coat was thick, but the swirling cold of darkness was thicker. 

Makkachin was all he’d had for so, so long. Whenever he’d been sad or lonely, she’d be right there, with her wagging tail and soft, wet nose - what kind of person would he be if he returned the favor by leaving her to die of cold? 

_ Go home _ , a small voice in his mind chided him, sounding strangely like Yuuri,  _ Go home, or  _ you’re _ going to die of cold _ . 

But where was home? Everything was swirling and frozen and blurred. 

Viktor breathed, shallowly, stopping to grip a streetlamp, because his feet seemed suddenly made of lead and he kept stumbling over him. 

“ _ Drunk _ ,” he heard someone mutter as they walked past.

_ Wait,  _ he thought, desperately,  _ Wait, I’m not drunk.  _

“‘Mnot,” he slurred, and fear began to creep up on him, cold as the wind. Viktor didn’t know where he was, the street signs were spinning, and nothing seemed familiar - but this was his St. Petersburg, so how could that be possible?

A few people wandered past, leaving work, but everything felt strangely empty, quiet. He didn’t dare talk to them, not trusting his mouth to form the words.

_ Where was Makkachin _ ? 

_ Oh _ , he was tired. So, so, tired. He ached to be back at his apartment, in his warm bed, next to his Yuuri and his Makka. 

_ What was happening to him? _

Viktor blinked, desperately trying to calm his pounding heartbeat, desperately trying to figure out where in his home city he was. Maybe if he sat down, he could take stock and take a moment to deepen the shallow, slow breaths his body was allowing him. 

That sounded good. 

Viktor slid down the street lamp, plopping onto the frozen sidewalk with a pained  _ oof _ . Ice crept up from the ground and seeped through his jeans, making him shiver violently. 

It was so cold.

He just needed a moment, though, a moment to rest - then he’d keep searching for Makkachin.

* * *

 

Yuuri had never run so fast in his life. 

Though he’d been living in St. Petersburg for a few months, now, he still struggled with the city’s layout - and he couldn’t help the panicked thoughts,  _ you’ll never find him in time, he’s going to freeze to death _ . 

St. Petersburg was a busy city, surely someone would be around to help… Right? 

He passed shops with signs written in big, bold cyrillic print - print he could barely begin to understand - trying to picture the map of Makkachin’s favorite places. There was the book shop a few blocks down from the park, a memorial to World War II veterans, the tree with the painted yellow marks… 

When he passed the bookstore he flagged down the owner frantically, eyes shining with tears. She recognized him - of course she did, they were the eccentric couple with the dog that kept trying to sniff at her book displays. 

“Have you seen Viktor?” Yuuri asked in halting, accented Russian, trying to keep himself coherent despite his terror.

The shopkeeper nodded and pointed down the street. “He asked about the dog,” she responded in her own halting English, “and went this way. Not long ago.”

“Thank you,” Yuuri nearly sobbed, and ran, and  _ ran _ . 

It was nearly an hour and a half before he found him.

Yuuri was so focused on his path that he almost missed the silver-haired figure slumped next to a lamp post. When he did, though, he nearly stumbled and fell flat on his face in his haste to turn around.

“Vitya,” he called to the figure, approaching.

The figure barely moved. Yuuri saw the ring, though, glinting on his ungloved hand, and he knew immediately that something was wrong. It was freezing, ice cold, and he was shaking a little - but not moving, not responding to anything.

“Vitya,” he called again, crouching in front of him. A pair of glassy blue eyes met his own, and Viktor blinked, slowly. “Vitya, are you okay?” 

“Mm,” Viktor murmured, swaying in place, “Tired.” He blinked again, and his eyes seemed to focus, pupils dilating like a camera lens. “Yu..uuri?”

“Vitya, what’s wrong?” Yuuri murmured, scrambling desperately for the Russian emergency number. “I think we should get you to a hospital.”

“No,” Viktor snapped, the most lucid thing he’d said since Yuuri found him,  “No, no… I’m… Cold. Cold, Yuuri.”

“What did you do to yourself, you impulsive fool?” Yuuri muttered, softly, in Japanese this time, before quickly switching back to English, “We need to get you home.” 

“Nnooo,” Viktor slurred, “No’yet. Makka…”

“Vitya, you need to warm up,” Yuuri said, forcing Viktor to look him in the eye, and pressing their foreheads together, “It’ll be easier to find her when you’re warm again.” 

“Makka,” Viktor murmured again, stubbornly, slumping to the side.

This wasn’t going to work. Yuuri’s heart beat rapidly as he realized how far gone Viktor was, how incoherent. Without another word, he slipped off his scarves, his gloves, and aggressively put them on Viktor. He checked for head injuries - had he slipped, concussed himself as well? 

There was nothing - no blood, no lump, so it was  _ just _ cold-related. Hypothermia? Fuck, he was barely even  _ shivering -  _ that was a bad thing, right? He was supposed to be shivering, especially when it was this cold?

_ Why didn’t you insist he bring another jacket _ , a voice in Yuuri’s head snarled at him, and he winced at it’s force.  _ This is your fault. Now you have no Makkachin, and your fiance is hurt, and you’ve failed him- _

He lifted Viktor and supported him, hopefully sharing his own body warmth as they stumbled back.

* * *

 

The apartment was so warm, so safe. Yuuri immediately deposited his groaning fiance onto the couch, running to the linen closet to pull out every single blanket Viktor owned, desperately searching for anything and everything that would warm him up. 

Hot tea? No, no, blankets first - gradual warmth. Were his feet wet, was his clothing soaked? Yuuri did a quick check to make sure they weren’t, panicking as he wondered if it was safer to wrap his cold clothing in blankets or have him risk exposing more skin to change into a sweater and sweatpants.

Viktor’s eyes were closed, his breathing still so painfully shallow. Yuuri didn’t want to ask him to undress, so he just wrapped two woolen blankets around him over his coat and jeans, tucking him into the couch.

“Stay with me, Vitya,” Yuuri murmured, patting his cheek gently. 

Confused blue eyes blinked open, and Yuuri let out a sigh of relief, tucking a thick down quilt around Viktor’s body, putting a thick woolen beanie over Viktor’s hair. He kissed Viktor’s icy cheeks, the pink tip of his nose, and put his warm hands along the sides of his face, hoping to transfer some of his own body heat. 

“Mmm, s’nice,” Viktor slurred, a bleary smile on his chapped lips. Yuuri kissed them, tasting the bitter cold of outside. 

“Do you want hot tea?” Yuuri murmured, ghosting his hot breath across Viktor’s mouth. 

“Don’ want you to leave,” Viktor pouted, nodding at the insurmountably far few meters Yuuri would have to travel to get to the kitchen.

“Okay, okay,” Yuuri sighed. Then, he curled up on the couch next to Viktor, wrapping his arms and legs around him. 

“It’s like an octopus,” Viktor giggled, still a little delirious, and Yuuri bit his lip. It would be better for them to be skin to skin, if he really wanted to transfer body heat, but he was terrified that taking off a single layer from Viktor would cause him to teeter off the edge of consciousness.

They stayed there for a while, Yuuri monitoring the steadily deepening in-out of breath, the rattle of air in Viktor’s lungs, and he sighed as he kissed Viktor again.

“I think tea might be okay, now,” he murmured, trying and failing to hear a heartbeat through the thick layers he’d wrapped Viktor in. Even though Viktor was wriggling, Yuuri worried. Yuuri always worried. “Do you have a thermometer?”

Viktor screwed up his face like he was ready to argue against Yuuri leaving, then seemed to decide against it, and said, sullenly, “Bathroom closet.” 

It seemed like a good sign that he’d tried to argue, so Yuuri pressed another kiss to his lips, his nose, and reluctantly pulled himself away. 

He rustled around in the bathroom cabinet before finding the thermometer, then made sure to kiss Viktor once again, making sure he was still awake, before setting up the hot water boiler in the kitchen. He’d read once that too much of a shock to the system could kill, and Yuuri’s nerves were already frayed beyond belief by Viktor’s strange behavior. Even if Viktor couldn’t drink any, Yuuri damn well needed a cup of tea.

The clock blinked cold, blue, LED light - Yuuri sighed. It had been hours, now, since Viktor had come home without Makkachin. And now, they still hadn’t found the dog, and Viktor was curled up half-frozen on the couch. 

The kettle beeped, indicating the water had fully boiled, and Yuuri poured the steaming hot liquid over a chamomile tea bag. 

Viktor wiggled his hands, still wearing Yuuri’s gloves, out from underneath the blankets. He gripped the warm mug, eyes closing and lips parting in bliss. 

Yuuri took the opportunity to pop the thermometer under his tongue, laughing at the indignant look Viktor gave him. 

He read the temperature - thirty-three degrees celsius. The shock of the temperature made Yuuri choke on air, and he quickly ran another search, this time for,  _ is someone likely to die with a temperature of thirty-three degrees? _

The answer was, apparently, no - Yuuri breathed a sigh of relief and rested his head on Viktor’s chest, pulling the mug away when Viktor tried to take a drink.

“Sip slowly,” he ordered, ignoring Viktor’s big puppy eyes. “Just take a quick drink, I don’t want you to be too cold to drink.”

“Won’t the tea make me warm?” Viktor asked, sounding annoyed. 

“You need to get warm slowly,” Yuuri insisted, “Or you’ll just get worse. Something about blood vessels and heart failure. At the onsen, once, a guy who had spent all day in the snow jumped in to get warm - and wound up needing to go to the hospital because it was too much of a shock to his system.”

Viktor’s eyes widened, but he drank diligently slowly, taking a moment before swallowing the hot tea. Yuuri waited a bit, taking a sip himself, and when it seemed like Viktor hadn’t accidentally given himself a heart attack, he allowed him another drink. Viktor closed his eyes gratefully, sighing at the warmth.  

“Wan’ get changed,” Viktor murmured between sips, “These are… Uncomfortable.” 

“Get changed, right?” Yuuri fretted, “Not like, rip off your clothes because you’re hot, right?”

Viktor frowned, not comprehending. “I’m not hot. I’m cold.” 

Yuuri breathed a sigh of relief. “Sure,” he said, “Sure, let me get some sweats, okay? Do you want to move to the bed?”

Viktor nodded, slowly, eyes not gleaming mischievously like he normally would at such a question. 

It was slow going, since Viktor’s fingers were still stiff from the cold, but he managed to put on a sweatshirt and a pair of sweatpants. He lay on the bed, under the covers, and Yuuri crawled in beside him, but not before wrapping another few blankets around Viktor for warmth.

Yuuri delicately lifted the mug of tea to his lips, allowing him to take slow sips. 

Everything was eerily quiet. Yuuri hadn’t realized how empty it would feel without Makkachin’s snuffling around the apartment, the soft patter of her paws - he looked to the door as though he expected her to be there, furry head cocked like she was asking if she could hop on the bed and join them. 

Viktor sniffled, and Yuuri looked up to find tears welling up in his eyes. 

“Vitya,” Yuuri murmured, pressing his lips to his once more, swiping away a tear with his thumb, “Please, don’t cry. We’ll find her.”

“It’s so cold,” Viktor whispered, and Yuuri knew he wasn’t referring to himself. 

“She has a natural, built-in fur coat,” Yuuri tried to reassure him, but Viktor sniffled again and let out a low sob. 

In truth, Yuuri was terrified for Makkachin. He’d lost one dog in his lifetime, and it had ached so horribly when he’d heard the news that he’d sworn he was having a heart attack. It was freezing outside, and even beyond that, who knew what kind of people were wandering the streets and might find her?

This was only the second time he’d ever seen Viktor cry. It wasn’t a secret that neither of them were fantastic at consoling their respective partners, but Viktor had opportunities in the past few months to practice, due to Yuuri’s naturally emotional nature - Yuuri, however, was as stuck as that night in Barcelona. 

Yuuri did the only thing he could think of - he pulled Viktor to him, and let him cry into his chest, rubbing soothing circles into his back. Better than brushing his bangs aside to get a better look, he supposed.

After a while, Viktor cried himself out, and Yuuri took his temperature again. Thirty-six degrees. Yuuri breathed a sigh of relief and continued to rub Viktor’s back as he fell into a fitful sleep.

It wasn’t all that late, only about 9:30 pm - normally, they’d still be up reading, or watching TV, or getting ready for bed. 

Viktor’s phone buzzed. 

Yuuri frowned. It buzzed again.

_ It’s ringing, _ Yuuri realized. 

He didn’t recognize the number, but he picked it up and answered nonetheless, heartbeat picking up as he imagined-

A female voice came through, speaking rapid Russian, definitely human and not a bot. 

Right. Right. Yuuri took a deep breath. “Viktor’s asleep,” he said in Russian, as quietly as possible, wincing, hoping he used the right words. “This is his fiance.” 

A pause. Then, the woman on the other end asked, “English?”

Yuuri blushed. “Yes, please.” 

“I have dog,” she said, without preamble. “You.. get him tomorrow?”

Yuuri cried out in joy, jolting Viktor awake in the process. Viktor blinked, sleepily, and Yuuri shoved the phone to his ear, mouthing  _ she found Makka _ .

Viktor’s eyes widened, barely daring to hope, and he began to speak into the receiver. 

Yuuri watched his expression go from hesitant to radiant with joy, listened to the musical ring of his laughter as he spoke to the woman on the phone in Russian. He’d never seen a more beautiful thing, he thought, maybe even from figure skating. 

Everything about Viktor seemed to soften as he hung up, crying again, this time tears of joy. 

Yuuri didn’t waste any time in kissing them away, letting Viktor grip him and ride out the last of the emotional drop. 

Finally, Viktor calmed enough to speak, and his voice cracked as he explained, “Her kids found Makkachin. Apparently, they hid her in the apartment - they’d been begging her to get a dog, but their building doesn’t allow pets. They managed to hide her for hours before she caught on because, get this, there was a trail of doggie treat crumbs leading right to their room.” 

Yuuri burst out laughing, because it was so _ridiculous_. “Oh my god,” he cackled, “Kids, _kids_.”   

Viktor nodded, barely able to speak through a second fit of laughter. 

Finally, he calmed, and Yuuri watched his chest rise and fall as his whole body  _ melted _ in relief. He looked at Yuuri lucidly for what felt like the first time that evening, a sad smile on his lips as he said, “I’m sorry, Yuuri.”

“What,” Yuuri said, trying to brush off the panic he’d been feeling for the past few hours with a joke, “Running off without your coat, getting hypothermia, needing me to nurse you back to health? It’s fine, it’s  _ fine _ .” 

Viktor winced, and Yuuri felt a little guilty. 

“Before I had you,” Viktor murmured, looking down at the heat pack, heavy in his hands, “She was the only family in my life. Her and Yakov, I guess, but she didn’t spend half her time yelling at me for being an idiot. She’s getting old, Yuuri, and I’ve been so worried lately… About, about-”

He cut off, shuddering and swallowing down another sob. 

“When she ran off, I panicked,” Viktor continued. “I wasn’t thinking. At that moment, I got a taste of my life without her, and I couldn’t handle it. She was the only one there for me when my Mama passed away, Yuuri, what’ll I do when she’s gone?” 

Yuuri sighed, residual anger draining away. He made himself very comfortable next to Viktor in bed and fluffed up the pillows next to him, pulling him down to the mattress for a kiss. 

“You don’t need to worry about that,” he assured him, cupping his cheek in his hands. “She’s not going anywhere. Tomorrow, she’ll be back with us, and you’ll tell her not to jump up on the bed, and she’ll do it anyway, and you’ll not so secretly love it. You’ll refill her food and water, and she’ll steal your spot on the couch, and she’ll be so clearly  _ here  _ it’ll be like she never left.” 

 Viktor smiled and kissed him, sinking gratefully into the pillows. He blinked his eyes slowly, sluggishly, and closed them again. Yuuri pressed one last kiss to his lips before letting him drift off, face soft and peaceful as he slept.

Yuuri didn’t say,  _ I’ll be there for you _ , because he knew it wouldn’t help. He would, of course, but there were some things that Viktor would need from Makkachin that he couldn’t get from anyone else. That was the way of dogs, he supposed, heart aching once again for his own beloved Vicchan. 

“I can’t believe some kids stole your dog,” Yuuri murmured to his sleeping fiance, laughing to himself about how ridiculous everything seemed, now that they were all safe and warm. 

“Me either,” Viktor murmured, voice muffled by pillows and blankets and drowsiness. 

 Ah, Yuuri thought, not so asleep after all.  

“How do you think they’ll react when  _ the _ Viktor Nikiforov walks into their apartment to claim Makkachin?” Yuuri joked, running his fingers through Viktor’s soft silver hair. 

“I bet they’ll be surprised,” Viktor said, eyes twinkling. 

Yuuri imagined a couple of children, mischievous as the triplets back home, realizing exactly who their precious poodle really belonged to. He supposed the shock of it would me enough for them to realize the error of their ways.

“You do love surprising people,” Yuuri murmured, half to himself. Viktor’s eyes were closed again, hand reaching out as though he was looking for something to hold onto. Yuuri gripped it, kissed the knuckles one by one, and rubbed his back until he fell asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Say hi on [tumblr](https://revampired.tumblr.com)! Also pls leave any comments or constructive criticism below.


End file.
